Chapter 42
ROSIE
At their house, the twins clambered out of the Land Rover.
‘Have you had a lovely time?’ Nessa asked them. ‘Why don’t you two have an ice cream, for being so good with Rosie.’ She turned to her sister. ‘You didn’t give them ice cream, did you?’
The twins hovered just behind Nessa and fixed Rosie with a look so profoundly penetrating and intimidating, she shook her head. ‘No… we didn’t. We just… you know… swam and they did a lot of talking and were so well behaved.’
The twins preened at the compliment. ‘We were,’ said Killian. ‘We were perfect, weren’t we?’
‘Well, that might be a little bit of an exaggeration,’ said Rosie.
‘No one’s perfect,’ said Isabelle.
‘Except Mrs Juniper,’ said Killian. ‘And Mummy,’ he remembered to say in time.
Nessa seemed satisfied. ‘Go and help yourselves,’ she said. ‘And there are sprinkles in the cupboard and some of that chocolate sauce.’
At the speed of lightning, the twins disappeared into the kitchen, shouting their thanks to Rosie.
Nessa leaned through the window. ‘Thank you so much for taking them. You’re so good.’
‘Feeling better?’
‘Still mortified. Like, appallingly so. I couldn’t sleep with the horrors. I met Seán this morning while he was on a run and I apologised again. You know something, he laughed. He said it added to the gaiety of the occasion.’
‘That’s what Patrick said.’
‘Who?’
‘His brother.’
‘Ah, yes. The good-looking one.’
‘He said you needed a bit of drama at an Irish wedding.’
‘I suppose. But I don’t know why I lost it. It was just seeing Laurence dancing like an eejit in the middle of the tent, doing the Macarena or whatever he was doing. And I just saw red. My friends are right. I need to focus on something other than my domestic life. I have no hinterland.’
‘Nor do I!’ Rosie said, passionately. ‘My hinterland is pathetic.’
‘Well, let’s get one then.’ Nessa paused. ‘How does one acquire a hinterland?’
‘No idea.’ The two sisters suddenly grinned at each other. ‘How’s the bathroom looking?’
‘Less yellow,’ said Nessa, ‘which is a good thing. He’s got more paint on himself than the walls.
You know, I do love Laurence. I mean, he’s not talented at anything, has never read a book in his life and he’s an eejit.
But he’s my eejit.’ She took in a deep breath.
‘I’ve promised to try to shout less. But I’m not sure if I can keep that promise.
What does Dad say, it’s all the university of life?
Well, it’s time Laurence cracked on with some coursework.
Write a few essays on being less of an idiot and more of a responsible citizen and family man.
I mean, to be honest, I don’t want him to lose all his Laurence-ness.
But just some of it.’ She smiled at Rosie.
‘By the way, I think you should implement a few more new ideas in the hotel. I was talking to Grace this morning. And she said that she wants more weddings and more events. And I was thinking a Friday night aperitivo hour. Get locals in for drinks and nibbles. We could have a summer party every year, get the marquee. And afternoon teas and all sorts. There is so much we’re not doing. ’
‘Really?’ Rosie felt something shift. She’d always assumed Nessa wasn’t interested in the hotel, but of course she was.
She was always suggesting things. Rosie just hadn’t really been listening.
She’d been battling on, martyring herself, and it had all been unnecessary.
She had a great team, and a sister who loved the hotel as much as she did. ‘Why don’t you get more involved?’
‘Oh, I can’t do that,’ said Nessa, in an overly dramatic fashion. ‘You’re so controlling. Older sister and all that. You like everything done your way.’
‘I’m controlling?’
Nessa laughed. ‘Oh my God, yes! But I love you, so it’s okay.
But if you do want to hear any of my ideas, you know where I am.
I was also thinking of a weekly book group or maybe garden tours.
We could rope Dad into the tours. He’s a natural.
And then we serve them tea and scones.’ She shrugged, as though she had lots more ideas but these Rosie could take or leave.
‘Anyway, hadn’t you better get back to the hotel? Isn’t the wedding starting soon?’
Just as Rosie was pulling away, she saw there was a text from Grace.
CRISIS! Pedro has fallen down the side of the cliff! By the fecking altar thing. Lucinda is having a panic attack. And we’ve only an hour until the fecking wedding!
Rosie zoomed back to the hotel, abandoning the Land Rover on the driveway.
Guests were beginning to arrive, beautiful dresses and high heels and men in suits, everyone greeting each other, excited about the day ahead, but Rosie dashed through them all, running across the gravel, towards the lawn, and then she spotted Patrick, just walking in through the main gate.
He opened his mouth to speak and she put her hand up.
‘I can’t! Pedro has fallen down the cliff. ’
‘Pedro’s that dog, right?’
‘Yes, he’s Lucinda’s and is absolutely horrible. The most narky, unpleasant and unfriendly dog in the world. Honestly, he’s like a bad-tempered cat in dog form. But Lucinda is having a panic attack… and if she’s still wailing and sobbing, it’s going to ruin the wedding.’
For a moment, they looked at each other, as though both remembering the effect Lucinda’s meddling had on their lives.
‘I’ll come with you,’ he insisted.
‘No, you have to get ready. It’ll be fine.’
But Patrick was already walking across the drive and around the hotel and Rosie had to run to keep up with him.
Along the long lawn and past the marquee, they saw the new white canopy, which looked as though made from a sail from a yacht, over the altar and the chairs.
Ahead, at the edge of the cliff, they spotted Lucinda, her head in her hands, staggering around, as though possessed.
Grace was lying on the ground, hanging over the side of the cliff, shouting something down.
‘Oh, thank God. A man,’ said Lucinda as Rosie and Patrick drew closer.
‘We need a strong man to sort this out. My little Pedro slipped and fell. He was trying to look over at the view. He does like a view, you know. But look…’ She began to sob.
‘He’s on the ledge. Hanging on to the precipice of life and rock… ’
‘Hello, Lucinda,’ said Patrick, nodding at Grace. ‘Busy day?’
Lucinda looked confused. ‘My dog is about to fall to his death,’ she said, plaintively. ‘And no one will care.’
Rosie knew this part of the hotel well, having spent her life crawling towards it and looking out to sea as the seabirds swirled ahead and the waves crashed below. She got to her knees and inched towards the cliff edge.
And there he was. The small brown figure of Pedro was a few metres below, teetering on a small outcrop.
Instead of being aware of his tricky predicament, he was yapping bad-temperedly and incessantly at a seagull.
There didn’t seem to be many ways to rescue him.
Except for calling in the coastguard’s helicopter, which would cause incredible disruption to the wedding and also be a waste of their resources.
You had to be clinging to a life raft after three days at sea, about to expire, before local residents would agree that the helicopter was justified.
But poor Pedro. However unlikeable he was as a dog, they couldn’t let him fall any further.
‘A net?’ Rosie suggested to Grace. ‘Could we scoop him up? A net on a pole?’
‘That’s a STUPID idea, Rosie,’ shouted Lucinda. ‘We can’t make a net. We are not ancient fisherfolk! And even if we were, it would take months! We don’t have months. We have minutes! Pedro will starve to death.’
Grace had turned her face to one side so Lucinda wouldn’t see her smile and then shout at her next.
Rosie tried to think of what else they could do. A drone with a hook on it? Could she be lowered out, her legs held by Grace, and grab him? A fishing rod with a bone on the end of it?
But Patrick had already lowered himself over the cliff and, clinging to the rock, taking careful little steps, was inching down.
The three women watched with horror, as Patrick clutched tufts of grass, made little handholds in rocky crevices, slowly making his way towards Pedro.
Pedro was still barking at the seagull, completely unaware that his life hung in the balance. But worse was Patrick’s life.
On her knees, Rosie clung to the grassy edge, watching him moving closer to Pedro. And then he stopped, crouched down, and with one hand holding on to a grassy tussock, he reached his other arm, in a giant span, and managed to brush the top of Pedro’s head.
Lucinda let out a blood-curdling scream. Patrick looked up with a face of complete irritation.
‘It’s not helping, Lucinda,’ said Rosie.
Lucinda turned on her again. ‘Well, if your child was about to plummet to their death, you’d be upset as well.’
Patrick was still trying to sweep tiny Pedro up, by balancing even more precariously. Any second now, Patrick would be dashed to his death. Talk about ruining the wedding vibe. Lucinda was now having palpitations, her breathing coming in tiny gasps. Grace and Rosie locked eyes.
‘Give me your hand,’ ordered Patrick. ‘I can get further down.’
Rosie grasped his hand, as Grace hung on to Rosie, acting as the ballast in the operation, and Patrick inched slightly lower, straining to grab Pedro.
And then he made his move, sweeping down his arm, palm upwards, he scooped up Pedro, holding him so tight the dog yelped, and in one arc through the air, Patrick let go of him, flinging him onto the grass, at the feet of Lucinda.
She screamed again. ‘PEDRO!’
Rosie and Grace pulled on Patrick, getting him over the top of the cliff, and for a second the three of them collapsed in a heap, while Lucinda fussed over Pedro, holding him in her arms.
‘Oh, you’ve been such a brave little man. You have to promise Mummy you will never, ever, ever do that again. I’m going to have to have you on a lead at all times and I know you hate your lead, but if you insist on falling over cliffs, then you will have to.’
Patrick had got to his feet, and Lucinda broke away from fussing over Pedro to gaze at him, eyes shining.
‘What a hero you are! That was an act of bravery, I can tell you.’ She looked dazed for a moment, staring at Patrick, giving him a quick once-over, his shorts, his loose shirt open at the neck, his long, tawny, muscular legs.
Patrick nodded, diffidently. ‘It had to be done. We couldn’t let the little dog fall.’ He went to scratch Pedro on the head, but Pedro was unsurprisingly ungrateful, snarling and snapping.
‘He’s a naughty little boy,’ said Lucinda, with a laugh. ‘Probably thinks you’re going to run off with me.’ She laughed.
Patrick made no comment.
‘We’ve only got fifteen minutes before the wedding,’ said Grace.
Patrick turned to Rosie. ‘I’ve got to go…’ And off he went, jogging across the grass, back to the hotel.
‘We’ve got to go as well,’ said Grace. ‘I’d better check on the bridal party and make sure they are ready. And that the musicians are there and everything. See you both later.’
Lucinda was all high-cheeked smiles. ‘That handsome man,’ she said.
‘And so charming. How old would you say he is? I must talk to him at the wedding and find out more about him.’ She mused for a moment.
‘I was chatting to his father last night… oh, he was very nice. Full of stories. You’d almost take them to be men of an entirely different class.
They can hold their own in any company, I would say. ’
Rosie could take no more of this. ‘Lucinda, please shut up.’
Lucinda’s mouth fell open. ‘Rosie, what did you say?’
‘I said, shut. Up. You met Patrick, years ago, when I was going out with him…’
‘You? Going out with him? But…’ Lucinda looked confused. ‘But his father… well… but… Are you sure?’
‘Quite sure. And you told him he wasn’t good enough for me. You told me I could do better. You wanted me to marry Laurence’s brother, awful Benji!’
Lucinda was taking all this in. ‘Me? I said all that? Are you confusing me with someone else?’
Rosie turned on her, suddenly furious. ‘No. No, I’m not.
And I have to go back to work and make sure this wedding is magical.
But, so you know, your meddling had a big effect on my life.
And his. And now he’s leaving again tomorrow evening and I will never see him again.
’ She could feel her throat catch, but she carried on.
No way was she going to cry in front of Lucinda.
‘And it would really help, Lucinda, if you stayed away from the wedding and let us get on with work. And you hanging around the hotel is a complete and utter hindrance… you’ve brought a toxicity to the place, and you just wanted to control things because why?
You were jealous? Didn’t like having any power and by trying to control the lives of me and Nessa, it made you feel more powerful? So, yes, you need to shut up.’
‘But some guests enjoy my company,’ said Lucinda.
‘Which ones?’ said Rosie. ‘Which ones, because you did not receive an invitation and I’ve had two family members who seem hell-bent on ruining everything. Perhaps you hate the attention being on anyone else.’
Pedro was glaring at Rosie with a look of complete hatred. As was his owner. The two were very alike. From somewhere up by the hotel, she could hear the music beginning, the strains of a fiddle and a bodhrán, playing some Irish tune.
‘Your mother, my dear, departed sister, wouldn’t appreciate you talking to me like that,’ said Lucinda, icily. ‘She would have been extremely cross with you.’
‘You two weren’t that close,’ said Rosie. ‘You had nothing in common. And please don’t mention her again to me because you took my mother’s memory to come into our lives and use us.’
Lucinda glowered at her, matched by Pedro’s utter dislike.
‘I’ve got to go,’ said Rosie, leaving Lucinda and Pedro behind. Rosie had given her so much power over the whole family, allowing her to influence them, to use them, to make Sandycove her home, and really, what had Lucinda given back?